


Hopeless

by Nebulad



Series: Run With the Hare || Hunt With the Hounds [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ballroom Scene, Fluff, M/M, Other, Wicked Eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebulad/pseuds/Nebulad
Summary: “Orlais never changes. We can only hope to avoid war, and I’m concerned that Gaspard doesn’t have that interest at heart.” Really, the things he was learning about southern politics. He hardly had room in his head for it, what with Tevinter’s politics already jammed in there, but of course headspace was always available for new anxieties.“Briala will keep him in line,” he returned flippantly.“Yes, a single elf against the Emperor.”





	

Theros was dressed with all the trappings of Antivan nobility, personally approved by Josephine and Vivienne for the Winter Palace. He was a vision, or so Dorian thought, in the solemn red and charcoal of the Inquisition with a severe expression to match. Grand balls were not his forte, obviously, as he clearly demonstrated with his standoffish attitude and pedestrian manners. Lucky for him, Orlais was in the mood for a handsome wildcard who cared nothing for their traditions.

Dorian, of course, only had the pleasure of watching him when he needed to be in the garden. He… suspected that perhaps Theros made a few more trips to check on him than were strictly necessary, but it was all conjecture. For being on such a vital mission for the good of the Empire, he was a remarkably light conversationalist. _The lights around here make you look stunning, amor. People keep asking me about you, I don’t believe they expect me to gush as I do. You’ll dance a round when I’m done, yes?_ All in all, a vast improvement upon whatever the hell had happened with the Wardens. The whole… nightmare business.

He shook off the memory of _that,_ standing in the sudden crowd of nobles who had watched their Empress slain before their eyes. They were looking up at Theros and Gaspard— a disappointment, really, that the Inquisitor didn’t seem very upset about. He was the same borderline-annoyed that he’d been all evening, with nothing _real_ to elicit any emotion stronger than disdain for Orlesians. He gave a speech and it was bad and stilted but still in shock, the crowd ate it up just for the sake of words being said to close off the whole nasty business.

Dorian ducked away, waiting for Theros to dodge all the well-wishers and dance partners. He kept a watch, of course, and only lost sight of him long enough for the Inquisitor to make his way to a secluded balcony and lean against the railing. Morrigan was on her way out when he approached, and the magic on her… made him nervous. What a silly thing for an Altus to be, but he couldn’t shake that there was something she knew that he didn’t.

“There was an _ancient_ dowager looking for you,” he quipped, with Theros’ eyes glued to him. “Said she has twelve daughters— I told her you’d left already.” He smiled but said nothing, just watching Dorian move towards him. “Long night, Inquisitor?” He found he didn’t have it in him to be charming; perhaps he was a little disappointed that after all that, Gaspard would take the throne. Celene was no better, but less of a warmonger at least.

“Busy,” he responded, turning to face out to the courtyard as Dorian had. “You don’t sound excited to be done with all this.” He gestured around, earning himself an indifferent shrug.

“Orlais never changes. We can only hope to avoid war, and I’m concerned that Gaspard doesn’t have that interest at heart.” Really, the _things_ he was learning about southern politics. He hardly had room in his head for it, what with Tevinter’s politics already jammed in there, but of course headspace was always available for new anxieties.

“Briala will keep him in line,” he returned flippantly.

“Yes, a single elf against the Emperor.”

“A marquise will enough dirt of him to shame him back to the first mammals to crawl out of the ocean and put on lace,” Theros corrected with a smile. _“Amor,_ you didn’t think I just handed Gaspard the throne?” He had, and he still did as a matter of fact. Even if there was a title in it for Briala, she was up against a government made of humans, and an Empire run by humans; what was it to _them_ if their new Emperor turned out to be a fraud? There was always someone else in line, and once the Breach was settled the nobility would have the perfect opportunity to throw them both out on their asses.

“I’m only saying that the elf is at a distinct disadvantage once the nobility no longer has to worry about having someone to blame atop their throne. She’ll be lucky if Gaspard goes down with her, frankly.” He’d half expected it when Theros drew away, looking cross.

“Ye of little faith,” he argued.

“Very little,” he said agreeably. “Coming from a country with a failed elven coup like clockwork, I can say that _groups_ of elves mean very little against systemic human superiority, let alone _one._ There’s no better example of that than Halamshiral, unless I’ve heard wrong about the Alienage.”

“If my alternative is to do nothing, then I would say my hands are tied.” He looked more than a little annoyed, now. That hadn’t been Dorian’s _intention,_ but there was something about Theros that sometimes invited a little spirited disagreement. It was refreshing to argue with someone and not have to worry about assassins and the like.

“I just don’t know why you bother, when you could be shifting more powerful pieces around. The humans should no doubt be the focus when rearranging—”

“ _Dorian.”_ Theros cut him off rather abruptly, and so it was more surprise than genuine deference to his interruption. All at once the Inquisitor turned on him, cupping his face as more a means to keep him still than to be at all romantic. Disappointing, but he was more concerned about what he’d said to elicit such a strong reaction. “You of all people should know, what with your grand Tevinter resistance, that it is the foremost duty of the oppressor to uplift the oppressed.”

“Well, yes—”

“But?”

“But systemically speaking, giving Briala a precarious title that hinges on the nobility’s eagerness to avoid another power-void on the throne is hardly the revolution I think you’re hoping it to be.” Theros made eye contact for a moment, then let his hands fall again and shrugged.

“As I said. When my alternative is to pick the human who has done the least indignity and harm to the elves, I would try something precarious rather than make that choice.” Now he looked rather downtrod, which Dorian hadn’t wanted either. Perhaps he hadn’t seen the hopelessness of the choice before.

“I never knew you cared so much about the plight of the elves.” It was a mere observation; after all, he seemed rather tied to the freedom of _all_ people. It could have been that the Winter Palace simply presented him with the opportunity to aid a _certain_ people, but he seemed suddenly rather tied up in the fate of elves in particular. It had never come up before.

He even looked as if he wanted to say something. It was right there, on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. “There are things you don’t know about me, Dorian,” he said, instead of his secret. “If not for my mother and sisters, I would tell you. I care nothing for what people think of me, you know, but… I cannot know if they would be safe, and so I keep my mouth shut.”

“You don’t trust me, _amatus?”_ he asked, hoping it sounded more teasing than hurt.

“When it comes to them, I trust no one. They will not be harmed through me,” he said firmly, reaching out and pulling Dorian over to press their foreheads together. “It isn’t you. It’s them. Just know that it isn’t out of character for me to demand aid for the elves.”

“I hadn’t thought it was out of character anyway. You’re _damningly_ kind— it almost makes my teeth hurt.” Theros laughed and kissed his forehead, his hand on the back of his head. “Anyway, shall we forget this whole bloody empire for a few moments? I believe someone promised me a dance.”

“That I did,” he agreed, stepping back to take hold of Dorian properly. The music drifting through the glass doors was just enough, in his humble opinion. Maker forbid they try to wander onto the dancefloor; between the dowagers cursing his name and the rubber-necked _gawkers,_ he wouldn’t have been able to bear it. “Have I told you how much I adore you lately?” Theros asked, dipping in to steal a kiss.

Then again, maybe he could stand much more than he gave himself credit for, so long as the Inquisitor was involved.

**Author's Note:**

> [My writing blog is here](http://nebulaad.tumblr.com) and I don't talk enough about Dorian's sketchy elf opinions. But it's one of those things where it's hard to tell if Dorian genuinely believes what he's saying (re: equating poverty and slavery in literal terms to defend his lifestyle) or if it's just one of those things like "oh check it out TEVINTER is morally grey too !!" because we all know what Bioware's like. Anyway, it's Christmas so.


End file.
